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I didn’t know why I did it. When I thought of people who needed to know where I was, roommate wasn’t high on that list. You told your parents where you were going. You told your boss obviously. You told your spouse and your children if they were still living with you, but guy you were maybe dating? It felt awkward, but I reasoned that he might try to surprise me at work again, and I didn’t want him showing up there if I was here.
Soup did sound nice, and I remembered we had bought a few cans at the grocery store yesterday. I hunted through the cabinets until I found where Mike had put our meager supply of canned goods. My choices were beef stew, corn chowder, and chicken noodle. I grabbed the chicken noodle and opened the can, pouring it into a pot and setting it on the stove. For some reason, coffee didn’t call to me that day. I always drank coffee, but today my stomach rebelled. I didn’t want to do anything to anger it, so I just stood and waited for the soup to boil.
I spent the time mulling over yesterday’s brunch. Mike had seemed nervous when he first introduced his friend, as if maybe they weren’t really friends at all. There was a lot that had gone unsaid between them, a lot of pointed looks and pregnant pauses. I didn’t know what to make of it. Then there was that comment that Mr. Newbury made yesterday. Was Mike involved in something I didn’t know about? Was that why the bartender at the Lucky Lady was so sour with him?
The soup erupted against its lid and slid down the sides of the pot to sizzle on the burner. I turned the stove off. My stomach heaved again, and again I dashed to the bathroom to empty its contents. I left the soup untouched and curled up on the couch, feeling sorry for myself. It was never fun to be sick, but when there were all these questions floating around, I wondered if I had made the right decision moving in with Mike.
I decided to call Macy. Whatever was going on, she would make me feel better. I flipped to her contact and pressed the Call button.
“Hey.” Her voice sounded bright as always. “How’s it going?”
“It’s fine, but I’m sick.”
“Oh no,” she crooned. “What are your symptoms?”
“Stomachache, weirdness in my head.”
“What do you mean ‘weirdness’?” she puzzled.
“I don’t know. It’s kind of a floaty feeling.” I tried to describe the illness.
“Hmm, that’s how I felt whenever I was pregnant,” Macy said.
I froze. My breath lodged in my throat, and my head spun. How long had it been since I had my period? It was before the cookout, I was sure. Was it before I had come to Singer’s Ridge? Oh God, what did that mean?
“Tammy?” Macy nudged me. “I was kidding.”
“No,” I whispered. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Okay, I’m coming over. Don’t go anywhere.” She hung up, and I was left alone with the growing realization that Mike and I had been irresponsible in our lovemaking. We weren’t habitual lovers yet, but there were at least two times we had sex without protection, and the first was about a month ago. It was enough to get pregnant.
I stood up and paced the cabin, down the hallway to Mike’s bedroom and back to the kitchen. Waiting for Macy was agony. I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t focus on the television. What was I going to do if I was pregnant? How would I tell Mike? He had just recently asked me to be his roommate, but there was still so much I didn’t know about him. Why hadn’t he ever settled down with a woman before? What was behind so many short-lived relationships? And what was between him and Porter, and him and the bartender?
The sound of tires on the driveway cut blissfully into my panicked musings. I rushed to the door to welcome Macy in. We hugged briefly before she pressed a small package into my hand. I read the instructions carefully, shutting myself in the bathroom to perform the pee test. Leaving the stick on the back of the toilet, I washed up and opened the door.
“Well?” Macy asked, waiting in the hall.
“I haven’t read it yet,” I said.
“Do you want me to?” She nearly begged me for the privilege.
I moved aside to let her pass. She dashed to the toilet and picked up the test, not caring where it had been. A single squeal was all I needed to tell me it was positive. She rushed to throw her arms around me, but I felt my stomach revolt. I pushed her back and fell to my knees, retching into the toilet bowl.
Macy collected my hair lovingly away from my face and held it while I threw up. I found her hand when my stomach had settled and squeezed. She helped me to my feet while I washed my mouth out.
“I know it’s scary,” Macy began, “but you’re gonna love being a mom.”
I was having a hard time summoning the same level of excitement. “What am I gonna do?”
“Let’s get you out of the bathroom,” she responded, as if I were one of her preschoolers. I let her lead me to the sofa and sat down while she busied herself in the kitchen. “What’s this?” She opened the soup pot.
“Chicken noodle,” I said.
“Perfect.” She poured some into a bowl for me.
I sniffed it, and it smelled really good.
“Feeling better?” Macy asked.
